


As Cruel As You

by DisappointMe



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, It's consensual but not nice, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisappointMe/pseuds/DisappointMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because he wants Zach to hurt, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Cruel As You

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from LJ.

It’s cold and Zach is tired. Bone-deep, life-crushing exhaustion is weighing down each of his steps, and it’s so bad that he can hardly feel excited when he sees the lights of his building halfway down the block. He lowers his head against the chilly winter winds, his breath coming out in white puffs as he steadily makes his way home. He takes the stairs two at a time, reluctantly extracting his hands from his pockets to pull open the front door to the building.

The stifling heat of the indoors reaches his exposed skin and makes him feel like needles are pushing their way through the layers of dermis and he clenches his hands against the unpleasant sensation. He takes a deep breath before making the three story climb to his apartment, and he doesn’t think, just walks. It’s almost a surprise when he reaches his door and it takes him a moment to fish his keys out of his messenger bag and he sighs when they stick in the top lock. He jiggles it just so before sliding the key into the door knob and turning, the hinges creaking as the door opens.

The sudden heat and weight and force against his back is paralyzing and he finds that he can’t so much as scream when he is shoved into his apartment. His mind can’t piece together what’s happening. He knows the door is being shut and locked; his bag is being pulled away and tossed to the floor; there is a hand over his mouth now; he’s being turned around, his chest pushed up against the door, the chill of the wood against his cheek a sharp contrast to the hot body behind him and the damp breath against the back of his neck.

He knows with unerring certainty every contour, line, and scar on the hand that is covering his mouth. He knows the press of the body against his own, the muscles that flex and contract beneath soft, warm skin. He knows that warm, spicy, purely masculine scent, could recognize it anywhere. He knows the sharp pattern of breaths, even and steady when he’s relaxed -- a longer inhale than exhale when he isn’t. He knows this man more intimately than he has ever known anyone, but he can’t seem to relax. He can’t get what he knows in his heart and soul to reflect in his brain and his body. The adrenaline coursing through his veins is making him jumpy and his heart is moving his blood through his veins so quickly and so forcefully that it’s loud in his head and it _hurts._

“Shhh shhh shhh,” is the whisper against his ear as the hand tightens over his mouth. “Relax, _baby_.”

There is no warmth in his words. They’re condescending and cruel in a way he so rarely is, but Zach takes a small comfort in them anyway. His pulse starts to slow, it no longer feels like his brain is going to explode inside his skull, he starts to let his muscles relax and they ache from the sudden release of tension.

“How was London?” But the hand is still clamped tight over his mouth, which proves what he suspected: this wasn‘t meant to be a conversation. He stills, resting his head against the door. He knows, now, that he could pull away if he wanted to, push Chris back and down and yell and scream about scaring him mostly to death, but he doesn’t. He’s held captive by the sting of his words, sharp and weighed down with emotions he rarely lets Zach see. He waits, and as expected, Chris continues, “I had to find out from Patrick, of all people. Because you couldn’t be bothered to tell me.”

He wants to say that they’ve hardly spoken in weeks – more than a month, maybe – Chris doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s working and Zach respects that, respects him. Even if their last conversation was tense and angry and Zach wasn’t sure where they even stood anymore. He gave Chris what he needed. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make demands. He wanted to ask Chris what the fuck it even mattered where he went, but he wasn’t sure he could make it convincing enough. He knew it wasn’t about where he went so much as who he went to see.

“Are you that desperate?” Chris asked, the stubble on his chin scraping against the back of Zach’s neck. He feels the adrenaline flowing under his skin headed to a new target and he shifts his weight, his ass just barely brushing against Chris’s hips. He can feel that Chris is half hard in his pants, probably more from the intense rush of blood than true arousal, but his own body doesn‘t know the difference and responds accordingly. Chris chuckles, low and devoid of any amusement, “You’ll fuck any dumb kid who will let you, won’t you? I know it. I’ve been that dumb kid. Fuck, I still am.”

And his spite falters just slightly, just enough to hit Zach where it hurts the most, but he knows better than to say anything. Whatever he says now will just further upset him, so he remains silent. Not that he has much of a choice.

“It’s not your fault, though. I’m a sucker – we’re all suckers – and you’re an opportunist.”

Zach closes his eyes against the words, tries to block them out but they make him ache in a part of his heart where Chris is, always has been, the only occupant. He knew what he was doing when he got on that plane. He knew Chris would find out and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted him to. That he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, maybe a little. Maybe more. 

“I hope he knows cuckoldry is a hobby of yours. A pastime. You did it _for_ me. Now you’re doing it _to_ me. Isn’t irony a funny thing?” But it doesn’t sound funny. Not when Chris says it. Not like this. He wants to tell Chris that it was different then and that yes, he cheated for Chris and it was the worst he’d ever felt (until _now_ , possibly) but it was worth it in the end because he’d gotten everything he‘d wanted. He should have waited. He should have said no, but he loved Chris, even then. Even now.

He tilts his head, tries to mumble Chris’s name against his palm but Chris doesn’t pull his hand away and Zach doesn’t fight him.

“Was he good?” Chris asks, dropping his head down onto Zach’s shoulder, his cold nose pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Was it just him, or have there been others, too? It’s no secret that you love those blue-eyed pretty-boys.”

Then Chris presses him to the door fully, the warmth of his body solid and familiar, but still foreign, somehow. He knows they’re positioned like this because Chris either wants to hurt himself less, or Zach more. If the latter was the goal, he hopes Chris knows it‘s working. Chris pulls his hand away and steps back for a just a moment before smoothing his fingers down Zach’s arms and up his sides. He reaches up and yanks Zach’s jacket off and down his arms. He fumbles with the buttons of Zach’s cardigan, but when Zach reaches down to help, his hands are pulled away, slapped against his sides without a word. He feels the cool of the room against the heat of his skin when Chris pulls his sweater off, but then Chris’s hands are on him again, hot and sure and gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

His skin breaks into goose bumps and Chris’s hands are on his arms, fingers digging in as they scrape down his skin, pulling uncomfortably at the hair near his wrists. He gasps, but Chris hushes him again in that sickeningly patronizing way. Then teeth are at the base of his neck, biting hard against the knobby bones digging in enough to make him wince and the throb of pain goes straight to his cock like they both knew it would. Chris bites him again, a little lower, his fingers moving around to Zach’s chest, scraping and pinching and scratching hard. He recoils against the sharp twinge as Chris’s fingernails scratch over his nipples, but he only succeeds in pressing himself more firmly against Chris.

“Does that boy know just how you like it?” Chris hisses before his canines sink into one of Zach’s ear lobes, pulling too hard. “Does he know that you’ll fight to top, but when you take it, oh, God, do you _take it_? Does he know what your come tastes like in the back of his throat? Does he know what your face looks like, how you look surprised and overcome when you fuck into him? Does it make him feel powerful to hear you call his name over and over? Does he know what it feels like to still want you so fucking much even though he just had you? Because I do.”

By the time Chris finishes what he‘s saying, he has worked his hands into Zach’s pants and is tugging at his cock, too rough and too dry, but Zach rocks his hips into the touch anyway. He had missed Chris’s hands on him and he wants it. Even like this, he wants it. Chris pulls his hands away and Zach moves to turn around, to pull him into his arms, to hold him close and tell him it’s okay but Chris’s hand is at the back of his neck, holding his face against the door that has now warmed with the heat of his skin. Chris pulls at his hips, reaches around and tears at the button of his jeans, shoves them down his thighs. It’s only seconds before he feels Chris drop to his knees. He hears Chris take off what felt like a pea coat, hears the heavy fabric fall to the floor. Then he hears more rustling before he feels the damp heat of Chris’s breath at the small of his back, feels the scrape of his stubble against the top of his bare ass. He bites back a moan.

Zach lifts his hand to bite into his fist when Chris’s teeth sink into the flesh of his ass. He only has a moment to recover before Chris is biting him again, and again, and again. Then Chris is scratching his nails up and down his thighs, hard enough to leave marks as he sucks wet, dark bruises into the skin of his ass and across his lower back, reaches around to scratch inside his thighs. He isn’t sure what to feel, but his cock is hard and aching between his legs so he submits. Lets Chris do what he wants. Lets Chris take it out on him.

As Chris pulls away with one last hickey to the bottom of his ass, he hears more shuffling and the click of a cap. Chris’s hands are far from gentle as they spread him open, his fingers only slightly better as two of them shove unceremoniously into him not rough, but certainly unyielding. He can feel that Chris isn’t reaching for his prostate; they’ve been together enough times for Chris to be more than certain of its location. He braces himself against the door as Chris curls his fingers and adds a third. His movements are slow, calculated. It’s obvious this isn’t for Zach, Chris doesn’t care if it feels good; it's clear he doesn’t want it to be painful. Not physically, anyway.

Chris bites at his ass again, and this time Zach can’t help the small cry that fall from his lips. Chris’s voice is rough and breathless in a way that usually turns him on, but right now is just making him regret. “I want them to know. I want anyone who sees this much of you, to see this and _know_. I want them to see this and feel betrayed like I do.”

Anything Zach might have wanted to say, might have considered saying is knocked out of him by the frank, naked _hurt_ in his voice. Chris pulls his fingers out of Zach and wipes them on the jeans that are bunched around his knees before standing up. He hears Chris unzip his fly, feels his hands brush against his ass as he unbuttons his jeans and opens them just enough to pull his dick out. He feels the slick, hot head of his cock press at him for one brief moment before Chris pulls back.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says in a tone that makes Zach think he didn’t. He hears more shuffling, then the telltale crinkle of plastic packaging. It makes Zach’s blood run cold and he feels sick with humiliation. They haven’t used condoms in well over a year. They had gotten tested, they were clean, there wouldn’t be anyone else. And Chris doesn’t believe that anymore. 

“Gotta play it safe, in case you didn’t.” It’s like a punch to the gut.

Chris rocks against him and the latex covering his cock feels more like an insult than anything else Chris has said to him tonight and it kills him. Worst of all, he’s not sure if there’s anything he can say to change his mind. When Chris lines himself up, Zach turns his head and glances over his shoulder. He can’t see Chris’s face – it’s too dark in the moonlit living room and Chris has his forehead pressed to the space between Zach’s shoulder blades – but he speaks to him for the first time all night.

“Chris, please. I just…” He doesn’t recognize his voice. It sounds weak and hopeless. Nothing like the man he is but exactly how he feels in this moment. “I need you to... _Please_.” 

Zach turns his head and tilts his chin, silently begging for Chris to kiss him, to reassure him, to tell him that it will be okay in the end. The noise Chris lets out is more of a sob than a laugh and he feels Chris’s head rock from side to side against his skin. He feels Chris’s hand thread into the hair at the back of his head and then smooth down the side of his neck, his fingers curling over his bare, teeth-marked shoulder. It’s a familiar, surprisingly tender gesture and it stings more than it comforts. “No, I can’t. I’m not sure I can even look at you. I can‘t...”

Chris doesn’t finish and Zach doesn’t ask him to. In one smooth, slow thrust Chris is inside him and Zach breathes against the pressure. Chris gives him a moment then digs his hands into Zach’s waist and fucks him. It’s sloppy and without their usual passion and finesse, but Zach moves with Chris, doesn’t stop the soft gasps from leaving his lips, closes his eyes and just _feels_ because this is Chris, and it’s _them_ and even when it feels so wrong, it will always be what he wants. Chris’s thrusts are losing their rhythm and he mouths wetly along the line of Zach’s shoulders, against his neck, behind his ear. He’s saying things that Zach can’t quite understand but what he can decipher – _you were mine, Zach, why, please, why us, Zach, why. Zach, why?_ – he wishes he didn’t have to hear. Chris comes with a wordless cry, mouth ghosting over Zach’s skin in a pantomime of a kiss. He feels Chris’s breathing begin to settle and he doesn’t care that his cock is still hard and leaving streaks of pre-come against the door because Chris has slumped against him, is resting his head against his shoulder, breathing against his skin and _holding_ him while he’s softening inside him.

Zach feels Chris slip out of him and there’s just a moment while Chris pulls the condom off, drops it carelessly to the floor and zips up his own pants before Zach is being spun around, back pressed to the door. He wants to look at Chris, wants to yank him close and kiss him until he has to kiss back, but Chris’s hand is on his cock, stroking more gently than he had been before. He gasps and rocks his hips into Chris’s hand, turns his head so their stubbled cheeks rub together, curls his fingers into the collar of the button down shirt he’s wearing. He groans Chris’s name when he comes, presses his lips to Chris’s neck as he spills over Chris’s fist and onto his own stomach.

He’s still trying to pull Chris closer to him even as he steps away and Zach is hit with an overwhelming sense of loss before he watches Chris’s shadowy outline drop to his knees. He doesn’t look up, but Zach can dimly see Chris lifting his hand to his mouth, licking Zach’s come off his hand, slowly and thoroughly. It’s almost as if Chris is unaware of Zach’s eyes on him. As if he could look away. When Chris is finished, he takes Zach by the hips and licks across his stomach, over his too-sensitive cock, licking up the mess in a display that would be arousing in its vulgarity if it didn’t strike him as poignant and desperate. When Zach is clean, Chris sighs, presses his lips to Zach’s hips and his stomach, just above his cock, over the scratches that Zach can see on his thighs, even in the dark.

He kisses Zach’s skin everywhere he can reach from his position on his knees. He does it over and over before pulling Zach’s briefs and pants up. Chris moves to button them but stops, instead pulling Zach close, wrapping his hands around him so they rest on the small of Zach’s back, Chris’s cheek pressed into the dip of Zach’s stomach between his hips. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but somehow tender and intimate and so, so heartrending. He lifts a hand and slides his fingers through Chris hair, which only makes Chris press into him further, murmuring softly.

He has to strain to hear what Chris is saying, but when he does, it breaks his heart, knocks the wind out of him with a force he didn‘t know existed: “I want to be enough for you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I love you, I don’t want you to want anyone but me, what did I do wrong, I’ll fix it, I’ll do anything, I’m sorry, I love you, don’t do this to me, I love you, I love you…”

Zach says nothing, just rests his hand at the base of Chris’s neck and brushes his thumb against the warm skin behind his ear.

They won’t talk about it tonight. He hopes that Chris will come to bed with him, hopes he’ll lie against him while they sleep. Hopes the fight they’ll have in the morning won’t be as bad as he thinks it will be. Hopes Chris can stay in town just one more night because he has missed him too much. Hopes they can get through this because Chris is everything that matters.

It hurts, almost too much. It will probably hurt for a while but he’ll take it because he wants this. No matter what, he’ll always want this.


End file.
